


Miss the Sky

by AnaliseGrey



Series: Along the Way [7]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Captivity, Electrocution, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, Magical Mayhem, Original Character(s), Other, Torture, Whipping, Whump, non-consensual magic use, oh yeah I forgot this series was gently widomauk, painful wound cleaning, they've reminded me, unpleasant sensory input
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-09 04:59:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16443386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnaliseGrey/pseuds/AnaliseGrey
Summary: When Caleb and Molly are captured by an arcanist up to no good, will they be able to keep each other safe?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fever Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143582) by [chaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya). 



> A few weeks ago I read Fever Dream, by chaya, and it made my brain overflow with ideas that have now flooded into this piece. If haven't read any of her fics, you should definitely go take a look!
> 
> Also, I'll be playing fast and loose with spell basics from 5e. Some of it might be accurate, some might be tweaked for creative license. Consider me the DM in this instance- what I say goes. Don't @ me to complain about how a spell effect *should* work. Your complaint will be summarily ignored.

For the briefest moment of heart-stopping terror, Molly thinks he’s died again.

He has no idea where he is, and when he opens his eyes, the first thing he sees is utter darkness. His head is pounding in time with his heartbeat, and it feels like something’s curled up in his mouth and died, and oh  _ gods _ , what happened?

He takes a moment, then another, closes his eyes and just breathes- in, out, in, out- and he soon realizes that it’s unlikely that he’s died again. He can remember his name, for one, but also now that he isn’t in a blind panic he can recognize the aftermath of being drugged, and doesn’t  _ that  _ say something about his life? When he opens his eyes again, they’ve adjusted better, and he can make out faint shapes in the darkness, though it isn’t much. His thoughts are slow, muddled, and he pushes at them, trying to remember what happened. There was a market; he’s pretty sure of  _ that.  _  He and Caleb had stopped for a snack and a drink before heading back to the inn to meet the others, and- oh no. 

_ Caleb _ .

Molly desperately starts looking around, searching to see if any of the forms in the darkness resolve into a wizard-shaped one. He runs into what turns out to be a barred door of some kind, but after patting around on the ground for a minute he finally finds a cloth-covered lump he recognizes. He’s able to make out where Caleb’s head is, and Molly can’t help the sigh of relief as he places his palm in front of Caleb’s face and feels a gentle puff of air as Caleb breathes. The other man isn’t conscious yet, but that’s hardly surprising. Molly takes a moment to feel lightly over Caleb’s body, checking for injury; his coat, books, and arm wraps are gone, and while he’s relieved not to find anything noticeably wrong, he  _ is _ disturbed to find something metal around Caleb’s throat. Reaching up, he finds he has a matching collar. He’s still feeling carefully around the etched marks in the metal of his new accessory when a quiet groan catches his attention.

“ _ Oh Götter _ -”

“My sentiments exactly.”

There’s a rustle of fabric as Caleb sits up then promptly topples sideways, barely catching himself before he falls back to the floor. Molly frowns in worry, and reaches out to set a light hand on Caleb’s shoulder. “You ok?”

Caleb flinches, but Molly thinks it’s more from surprise than anything. If he’s having trouble seeing in here, then Caleb is totally blind.

“I- I think so? Where are we, what happened? Can you see?”

The last is said with an undercurrent of worry; there isn’t a lot that Molly can do in this situation, but  _ that  _ particular worry he can help with. “In order- I don’t know, I think we were drugged and kidnapped, I can see, but only a little. It’s very dark in here, it isn’t you.”

There’s a shuddering breath next to him. “Oh. Good.”

Another pause, then, “What is- there’s a-”

“Collars, yeah, I know. I think there’s etching on the side, at least there is on mine, but I don’t know what it is.”

He sees the dim shape of Caleb’s arm moving up to feel along his own collar, and he waits, giving Caleb a moment to investigate. Caleb mutters a curse under his breath.

“That doesn’t sound promising.”

“I know what this is, what these are. They are, uh, meant to contain, to stop magic use. I would not suggest you try using any magic while wearing that, Mollymauk.”

“What happens if I do?”

“You will have a very unpleasant experience, I expect. It depends on how it has been enchanted, but without being able to actually see it, it is difficult to say what the intended effect is.”

There’s a dull metallic thud from nearby, and they both freeze as the creak of un-oiled metal pierces the silence around them. The ambient light in the hall increases, accompanied by the sound of soft footsteps, along with a few sets of louder ones. The light gets closer, the shadowed shapes around them resolving into a cell. There’s stone under them and above them, stone around them on two sides with bars on the third that show an adjoining cell next to them. There are no windows, and in front of them are more heavy iron bars with a door worked into it. Molly wants to move in front of Caleb, between him and whatever threat is coming, but he knows he won’t have time, and appearances are important. No need to show a direct weakness just yet.

The man who comes to stand in front of the cell door isn’t that remarkable-looking, but Molly knows that looks don’t mean much. He’s around Molly’s height, maybe a few inches shorter, with curly dark-brown hair and a thin face. His eyes are bright, a sparkling brown in the light of the torch he’s holding. What worries Molly most is how at-ease the man looks. He doesn’t look remotely concerned at having drugged and kidnapped a couple of strangers, and that sort of confidence is dangerous to be around.

“Yes, hello, glad you’re awake.” The man pauses, and looks them over in the torchlight, and his mouth splits further into a grin. “Oh how marvelous. Hunted a wizard and got a free tiefling in the bargain. Delightful.” The man waves to the side and the guards Molly had heard step forward, one with a crossbow that he keeps trained on the two prisoners, and the other with a set of keys who begins to unlock the cell door.

“The wizard first, if you don’t mind.”

Molly feels Caleb tense beside him, and Molly’s hackles rise, a growl forming in his throat before he can stop it as the guard with the keys steps into the cell and makes for Caleb.

“Oh don’t get your knickers in a bunch. He won’t be harmed.” The man with the torch has a look about him, a hunger that Molly doesn’t especially care for.

The guard reaches Caleb and grabs his arm, yanking him up to his feet. Caleb stumbles at the force but then rights himself, and looks over his shoulder to Molly as he’s being led out, but doesn’t say anything. Too soon, the guards and the man with the torch have taken Caleb out of sight, and it’s just Molly, sitting alone in the dark cell.

He tells himself it’s not the same.

He doesn’t have dirt in his mouth, clogging his nose. The smell is very different, a damp stone smell, and the bite of wet iron from the bars. The sound is different in that there  _ are  _ sounds, though faint. He can barely make out the sound of dripping water somewhere nearby, in another cell, perhaps. He tries calling out a few times, but gets no response. He’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.

It takes him twenty minutes after Caleb is taken to consider using some of his abilities despite the warning. It’s yet another ten minutes before he actually does it.

The result is swift and awful, just as Caleb had warned it would be. Molly draws a claw along his forearm, focusing on his intent, and the moment his nail starts to flare with power the collar activates. Molly gives a choked-off scream as a jolt of electricity arcs through him; he loses his grip on the power he’d summoned and is on his hands and knees shaking when the collar stops.  _ Fuck _ , that hurt. Well, Caleb did try to warn him

He crawls over to the closest wall and leans against it, and he’s mostly stopped shaking by the time he hears the door nearby open again. He perks up, tense, and is overcome with relief when he sees Caleb moving under his own power. It’s similar to before, though the man who’d spoken to them isn’t present. There are three guards this time; there’s still one holding a crossbow on Molly, one with the keys to open the door to the cell, and the third holds a light source, hand on the hilt of his sword where it’s sheathed on his belt. Caleb is walking between them, a little unsteady, but seemingly okay. Once the cell door is opened, Caleb is directed through to stand on the opposite side of the cell, and once he’s there, the guard beckons to Molly. “C’mon then, your turn.”

Molly has the urge to fight, but Caleb’s quiet words stop him.

“Don’t, Mollymauk, it’s alright. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Molly bristles, but stands, trying to get a good look at Caleb as he crosses the cell. The other man looks exhausted, even more so than usual, but he doesn’t sound like he’s in pain, and Molly can’t smell blood on him, so he has to take him at his word. The guard at the door grabs his arm and it takes almost more self-restraint than Molly has to resist wrenching his arm back from the guard’s grasp. Caleb just watches as Molly is pulled along down the hallway.

It’s not too far to the door Molly’s heard open and close. One of the guards raps on the heavy wood and after another guard peers through a barred cut out from the other side the bolt is thrown back and the door is opened. They all pass through, and Molly is led to a different area of the same floor. Everything is made of stone, and if they’re underground, Molly can’t begin to wonder where they’ve been taken considering the sheer size of the space they’re in.

After another minute or so he’s led into a room and he squints against the light. There are a number of ever-burning torches spaced around the room, along with what look like magically-lit floating balls of light up in the ceiling. They look like Caleb’s dancing lights, but are contained in little glass bubbles. In the center of the room is a table and Molly balks at the sight of restraints.

“Yes, I know it looks terribly frightening, but don’t worry, I promise it won’t hurt a bit. Just a safety precaution, really. Now chop chop, up on the table, please.” It’s the man from earlier, the one with the torch. He’s at a table to the side, scribbling something on a piece of parchment with a quill, and looks like he’s only half-way paying attention to Molly.

“You know, I’m all for a little bondage as much as the next person, but usually I get a drink or a name first.” The grip on Molly’s arm tightens as the guard drags him towards the table, and Molly knows he’s outnumbered, is smart enough to know that the odds aren’t with him, even if he didn’t have a magic collar holding his abilities at bay. With a deep sense of foreboding he climbs up on the table and tries not to panic at the feel of straps being tightened around his wrists and ankles, pinning him down.

For a moment he just lays there, and then the man is walking over to stand at the head of the table, leaning over so his face is directly above Molly’s.

“My name is Wicker. Now, I understand this may be a bit unnerving, but I promise it won’t hurt. Just hold still, please.” Wicker places his fingertips on Molly’s temples and before Molly can try to shake him off, he’s overcome by a pulling sensation. It’s originating where Wicker’s fingertips are making contact, but it feels like it’s drawing something from deep inside of him, only Molly can’t figure out what it is. Wicker had been right, it  _ doesn’t  _ hurt, but that doesn’t make it any less distressing. Neither does Wicker’s exclamation a few minutes in.

“Oh! Not  _ just _ a tiefling, then, how interesting. What do we have here, I wonder…”

Gods, that’s almost worse, being a  _ what  _ instead of a  _ who _ . Molly’s getting the distinct impression that Wicker considers him an interesting specimen more than a person, and the feeling of being a bug on a board only intensifies.

Molly can’t help the noises he’s making as the pulling sensation gets stronger, can’t help struggling against the restraints. It doesn’t hurt, but it feels  _ wrong _ , weird in a bad way, like he’s being scooped out, hollowed, and gods, not again, he doesn’t want to be empty,  _ please  _ not that,  _ anything  _ but that-

Wicker lifts his fingers from Molly’s head, done for the time being, and all Molly can do is lay there stunned, on the keen edge of a panic attack.

“Well now  _ that  _ was a delightful surprise. You’re a lot more than you look, aren’t you?”

Molly wants to give a witty response,  _ any  _ response, but his words have deserted him. 

Wicker beckons to the guards and they come over and release Molly from the table. They get him up, and he’s caught by surprise when his legs almost give out as his feet hit the floor. The closest guard steadies him, and grasps his arm as they start to lead him back to the door.

“Yes, a little fatigue or disorientation is normal at first, don’t worry about it. Rest well, tonight. You’ll need it!”

Molly shoots a disbelieving look over his shoulder at Wicker as he’s pulled from the room. The hell kind of trouble have they got themselves into this time?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because reader response occasionally results in the author blasting through edits on the next chapter to get it out and published much faster than anticipated...

Caleb supposes it could be a lot worse.

His interaction with the man known as Wicker had been odd and mildly unpleasant, though not painful. He hadn’t been thrilled at being strapped to a table, but he thinks most people would have taken issue with that part. He has a theory on what’s happening, what Wicker’s doing, but will need to go through the process once more to be sure. His head still feels fuzzy, but he doesn’t know if that’s due to whatever Wicker did, or if it’s residual from being drugged.

He’s curled himself into a corner of the cell; having walls at his back makes him feel better about not being able to see. His eyes are tightly shut- that way he can tell himself it’s okay for it to be dark. Gods, he wants his cat, at least he wouldn’t be alone. Reflexively, he reaches out, trying to summon Frumpkin, and immediately regrets it as his collar activates, a brief flash of light against the darkness as it shocks him. He screams, partially from pain, partially from surprise. It takes him a moment, but then he realizes that even though the collar had responded to the attempted magic, he hadn’t been able to make his connection with Frumpkin. It felt blocked, like there was something in the way. Caleb is utterly absorbed in thinking through the possible explanations when he hears the door down the hall open. A few seconds later he hears footsteps, and the corridor lightens as the guards return with Molly. They unlock the door and push Molly through, and Caleb frowns in concern. Molly looks terrible, washed out in the torchlight. Had Wicker done something different to Molly?

The door gets locked again, and as the guards walk away, taking the light with them, Molly sinks to the ground next to Caleb, tipping sideways to lean against Caleb’s shoulder. Caleb can feel him shaking, and puts an arm over Molly’s shoulders, pulling him closer.

“Mollymauk, are you alright? Are you hurt?”

Caleb feels the movement as Molly shakes his head, but a few minutes pass before Molly speaks.

“I’d  _ really  _ rather not do that again.”

Caleb isn’t unsympathetic, but he’s also realistic. “I don’t know that we will have much of a say in the matter, Mollymauk.”

Molly shudders against him, huffs a mirthless laugh. “I was afraid you’d say that. Any idea what he’s doing?”

“Actually, yes, but I may have to see it once more to be sure.”

Another pause, and then, “What, really?”

Caleb shrugs. “I believe he is stealing arcane potential. It’s difficult to test, since with the collars on it would be unwise to attempt to cast. But that is what I think he is doing. I can only assume it is for some nefarious purpose, given the circumstances.”

“Huh.”

They sit another few minutes, and Molly’s trembling subsides, his breaths slowing.

“On the bright side,” Caleb muses, “If that is what he is doing, he can only really do it once a day. Once you are tapped, that’s it.”

Molly snorts, and Caleb really wishes he could see the man’s face. “For  _ you _ , maybe. I can do my trick all day. As long as I don’t pass out from blood loss I can do it however much I want. So that’s a new and horrifying thought.”

Caleb grimaces. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Not your fault. It’s the fault of the shithead keeping us here. Speaking of which-” Molly extricates himself from under Caleb’s arm and Caleb hears him stand and move away. “Any thoughts on how to get out of here? I’m guessing the others are looking for us, but I’d rather not put all our eggs in one basket, you know?”

“ _ Ja _ . I’m afraid I haven’t really given much thought to escape. I can’t see the bars, so it was difficult to get an idea of how they’re put together.”

There’s a quiet sound of agreement from a few feet away, and Caleb can only guess that Molly is now at the bars, looking them over, or running his hands over them.

“If you could see the lock, and had something to work with, could you pick it?”

“Hmm-” Caleb gives it some consideration. “I am not as talented as Nott, but I might be able to. She has been trying to teach me. I like to think I am not entirely useless with a lock pick.”

Molly comes back and settles next to Caleb, pressing close up against his side. It’s not especially cold in the cell, but it’s damp, and it’s nice to feel the warmth of another person, to know he’s not alone. Which reminds him-

“Also, I think maybe this place, wherever it is, is shielded somehow.”

“Oh?”

“ _ Ja _ , I tried to summon Frumpkin, but it was blocked, like there was a barrier. It may be something like an anti-teleport spell, or anti-scrying, or some combination of the two. If the others are looking for us, that may cause potential problems.”

“I can see how it would, yeah. Wait, you tried to summon Frumpkin- did it make the collar…?”

Caleb shrugs. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly at the time, but yes.”

“ _ Caleb _ .” It’s practically a hiss, and only the fact that Caleb knows Molly so well lets him interpret it as concern instead of anger. Suddenly there are gentle fingers at his throat, carefully feeling around. “Are you alright? No lasting effects?”

Caleb reaches up and catches at Molly’s hands, pulling them away, but not letting go. “I’m fine, Mollymauk. It only lasted a moment. This type of enchantment, it’s not meant to cause damage, just pain. I am alright.”

Molly makes an unhappy noise next to him, hands tugging loose to turn and catch Caleb’s in his own. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

They chat, trying to pass the time, and Caleb is annoyingly thankful when the guards return with food and water, if only because they bring the light with them. This time they leave the torch in a sconce on the wall outside the cell for while they’re eating, and they both move to have a closer look at the door to  inspect the lock. Now that Caleb can see Molly, it’s hard to miss how he’s practically brimming with nervous energy. He doesn’t look as pale as he had earlier, but the agitated swish of Molly’s tail belies the calm he’s trying to project.

“Mollymauk,  _ are  _ you okay? You said they didn’t hurt you, but-” Caleb struggles to put into words what he’s feeling. How Molly looks a few moments away from nervous breakdown, tension buzzing along him in near visible waves despite how relaxed he’s trying to appear. 

Molly runs a hand up through his hair and lets out an unsteady breath. “It just- when he was- it felt-” He scratches absently at the base of one of his horns, and tries again. “Remember when I was telling you all about when I woke up? That first time?” Caleb nods. “It feels a little like that. Near as I can remember it, anyway. It felt like he was emptying me out, and well…” Molly gives Caleb a half smile and shrugs. “It was pretty shitty is what I’m saying. And if he’s going to be doing that at least once a day,  _ every  _ day, for however the fuck long we’re here? That’s going to be even shittier.” Molly walks back over to the wall and leans against it, sliding down to sit as he wraps his arms around himself, his tail pulling close and twining around his calf.

Caleb moves to Molly and sits next to him, pulling him close again with an arm around his shoulders. “We will figure something out. And that is if our friends don’t figure something out first.” Molly leans into him, and Caleb feels some of the tension in him drain away. “If we can find something to pick the lock with, I might be able to open it, even without the light. Now that I’ve seen it, I should remember it.”

Molly hums in agreement. “I could probably find something, or swipe something from a guard.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks. “Wouldn’t be the first time, really.”

“True, but I think it should be me.”

Molly turns his head to look up at Caleb. “Why? I know you and Nott got up to some stuff before you met us, but is your sleight of hand that good?”

Caleb shrugs. “Perhaps not, but what do you think happens if we get caught?”

Molly frowns. “Nothing good.”

“Right.” Caleb clears his throat. “So it should be me.” He holds up a hand, forestalling the protest Molly is about to make. “Not because I think I deserve  it, I assure you. Between the two of us, without access to magic, you are the one who can still fight. You are still an effective combatant even without your fancy powers. Whereas if my magic is out of the picture, I am only a man. It makes more sense that if one of us may be punished, especially since we don’t know what shape that punishment may take, it shouldn’t be the one who may need to fight to get us out.”

Molly sighs, and rests his head back on Caleb’s shoulder. “Ok, but one, for the record, I don’t like it, at all. Two, you have to promise me you’ll take every precaution. Don’t do anything stupid. And three, you’re not  _ just  _ a man. You’re one of the smartest people I know, Mr. Caleb, and that’s not nothing.”

Caleb doesn’t answer; he and Molly have had this discussion before, and while he’s getting better about acknowledging his own self-worth, it’s not something he’s inclined to get into right now.

“I promise I will do my best not to get caught, and to not take any unnecessary risks.” Molly makes a dissatisfied noise next to him, but lets it go.

The guards return, collecting their dinner dishes and the torch, leaving them in darkness again. They huddle together in the corner, and quickly fall asleep.

The next morning is very similar to the day before. They’re woken up by the guards arriving with more food, and while they’re eating they’re taken one at a time to go to use a small washroom down the hall from the cells. Once breakfast is done, they’re left alone until later in the day. Caleb thinks it’s only been a few hours when the guards come again and this time take Molly first. He’s gone for a half hour at most, but he’s visibly shaken when they bring him back. He gives Caleb a tremulous smile as he reenters the cell and Caleb wishes they’d taken him first so Molly wouldn’t have to be alone right now. He goes with the guards without fuss, doing his best to keep a low profile, doing exactly as they say, not resisting in any way. He hopes that the more he looks helpless, the less they’ll consider him a threat, and perhaps the less they’ll watch him.

They take him back to the room with the table. He glances around, taking in as much of it as he can before he gets to the table. He breathes through the feel of the straps tightening, tells himself Wicker isn’t going to hurt him, not when the other man needs him. He spends the time Wicker is siphoning to think through what he saw, to determine if any of it might be helpful.

There had been a pile of firewood near the door that would have been helpful if he were able to work a transmutation, but he immediately dismisses that. He’ll never be able to concentrate long enough to get it to work. He mentally rifles through the images of what he’d seen coming in, and he settles on the contents of one of the work tables between his table and the door. There are a number of instruments on it: mortar and pestle, containers of some sort, flint and steel, candles, but what he focuses on in his mind’s eye is a metal stirrer. It doesn’t look like it’s much longer than his hand, and made of thin twisted iron, but the thinks he can still palm it if he does things right. If he can manage it, it might make a decent lock pick.

When Wicker is done, and they’ve released him from the table, Caleb puts his plan such as it is into action. He feigns weakness, stumbling when his feet his the floor, then rights himself. He purposefully drags, moving slower than before, and when they approach the table he pretends to trip, falling into the work surface. Instruments scatter and fall to the floor as he also falls, and while he knows he’s going to feel this in his knees later, he feels a small thrill as he gets the stirrer into his hand, thankfully the one facing the table. There’s a rough hand on his arm and he’s being pulled up again, but has just enough time to slip it into his boot before he’s yanked all the way up.

“ _ Es tut mir Leid _ , sorry, I didn’t-” One of the other guards slaps him hard across the face, and he stumbles sideways again, the hand on his arm from the first guard keeping him from being knocked over. 

“No, it’s alright, let the poor man be.” Wicker’s voice carries from across the lab, dismissive. “Take him back to the cell, thank you.”

Caleb hunches in on himself, reaching up to carefully rub at his cheek, hoping it’s not too red; he doesn’t want Mollymauk to worry unnecessarily. He keeps up his act all the way back, and when they shove him into the cell, he lets himself fall down to his hands and knees, staying in place until the cell is locked and the guards retreat, taking the light with them.

“Caleb!”

Mollymauk rushes over, and Caleb reaches out for his hand. “It is alright, Mollymauk, I am fine, I promise. I had to make them think I was not as steady as I am. I am alright.”

Molly’s hand comes up to rest carefully on his face, where he’d been struck, and Caleb grasps at his wrist, squeezing gently. 

“Mollymauk, I will not lie to you,  _ das verspreche ich _ . I am ok. My knees may complain a bit tomorrow, but I am okay. I was able to get something, something that may help us escape. I will want to take another look at the lock tonight if they bring the light at dinner again. Then we will need to decide what to do.”

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. You’re sure you’re not hurt?” Mollymauk is already helping him up and over to the wall, and Caleb can’t help but smile.

They guards do leave the torch during dinner, and Caleb eats while taking as close a look at the lock as he can given the poor lighting, doing his best to commit it to memory so it will be easier to pick it later. He’s already back against the wall with Mollymauk when the guards return to take their dishes and escort them on their evening trips to the washroom.

They’ve decided to wait until the next morning to attempt escape so if nothing else they’ll be well-rested; if they’re lucky and can get the collars off, they should have the full range of their abilities as well, though Caleb would still be without his components. It’s a risk they’re willing to take.

“I don’t know if the stirrer is even long enough to work as a lock pick. I think it is, but the only way to find out is to try.”

“Well, don’t borrow worry over it if you don’t have to, Caleb, we’ve got enough as it is. Best we get some rest so we’ll be ready to run later if we have to, ok? Don’t worry your pretty ginger head about it.”

Caleb rests against Mollymauk’s side and lets his eyes slide shut. “ _ Ja _ , sounds good, Mr. Mollymauk. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mr. Caleb.”

 

 

 

Caleb jolts awake, a scream half out of his mouth before he even realizes what’s happening. The collar sparks again in the dark and he has a second to think, ‘ _ Oh, Scheiße _ .’ before he’s being shocked again, and again, and again, only seconds between each jolt. He’s convulsing on the floor, and he thinks Molly is shouting next to him, but it’s hard to tell what he’s saying over the rushing in his ears. He’d been telling the truth when he told Molly that this enchantment was mostly designed to hurt, not harm, but oh  _ gods _ does it hurt, his nerves screaming at him as he thrashes on the floor, muscles seizing. It finally stops, and he can’t do anything but twitch and try to breathe.

“Caleb-” Molly’s voice is close, scared and worried, and Caleb wants to tell him he’s ok, but words are a bit beyond him at the moment. He feels one of Molly’s hands land on his chest, solid and grounding. “What happened?”

“He was a little  _ sneak _ , is what happened.”

The voice carries from the far side of the cell, and as they both look over a torch flares to life, temporarily blinding them before their vision resolves to show Wicker standing just outside the bars, flanked by a number of guards.

“You know, I thought I’d been more than hospitable. I took reasonable precautions, yes, but I didn’t hurt you, didn’t  _ intend  _ to hurt you. I fed you, made sure you were relatively comfortable, and what thanks do I get?” His voice changes from the cheerful lilt they’re accustomed to, to something hard and sharp. Caleb feels a shiver completely unrelated to the electricity go down his spine. “Well. I suppose that’s on me; I didn’t do a proper show of force when you first arrived, but that can be easily remedied.” Wicker waves a hand, and one of the men unlocks the cell door before moving out of the way so the other guards can flood in.

Caleb tries to scramble away, but he’s not fast enough. Molly is growling next to him, putting himself between Caleb and the guards, but there are too many of them; Molly’s knocked to the side with an impact Caleb can hear, and he winces in sympathy, his view quickly blocked by a wall of guards. Hands grab his arms with bruising force, picking him up and carrying him out, moving him to the neighboring cell. Fear is starting to overwhelm him, his heart racing rabbit-quick in his chest, and it’s hard to breathe as rough hands yank his shirt over his head. He’d known there was a very real possibility of things going wrong, of being caught, but that’s always very different than the reality of it happening. 

There’s the sound of chain moving above him, the rattle of heavier metal, and when Caleb dares a glance up, the bottom drops out of his stomach. A metal bar is being lowered from the ceiling, two heavy metal manacles dangling from it, one on either end, and blind panic takes over. He struggles against the hands on him, not knowing what’s about to happen, but knowing with utter clarity that it’s going to be  _ bad _ , that he doesn’t want it, whatever it is. He barely knows what’s coming out of his mouth; he’s not above begging. He hasn’t been above begging for a  _ long  _ time, but as has been his previous experience, his pleas fall on deaf ears.

His arms are wrenched up, his wrists locked into the manacles, and he’s oddly thankful that at least they don’t have spikes inside like some he’s worn. His thankfulness is short-lived as there’s the sound of chain again and the bar he’s locked into starts to rise back towards the ceiling, taking him with it. The bar lifts until he’s almost off the floor, the toes of his boots scraping the stone under him, barely taking his weight, and he does his best to breathe through the pain already starting in his wrists and arms. Part of him hopes this will be the worst of it, but he sincerely doubts it.

“You know,” Caleb flinches at the sound of Wicker’s voice coming from right behind him, and flinches again at the fleeting touch of a hand to the bare skin of his shoulder as Wicker moves around to stand in front of him. “Honestly I’d assumed that if one of you was going to try something, it would have been the purple one.”

There’s a string of angry-sounding Infernal from the other cell, followed by a grunt of pain, and when Caleb turns to look Wicker grabs his chin and forces his head back forward. One of the guards moves closer, pulling Caleb’s leg up as Wicker reaches into Caleb’s boot, finding the metal stirrer Caleb had hidden there earlier. Wicker’s grip on Caleb’s face tightens painfully but then releases, and he taps Caleb on the nose with the stirrer. Wicker’s look of irritation evaporates, leaving him looking eerily cheerful again. “You’ve been a very naughty boy, you know. And naughty boys get punished.” Wicker looks over Caleb’s shoulder at someone and gives a nod. “Make sure he learns his lesson well. Report to me after.” Wicker moves out of Caleb’s line of sight, and his footsteps echo down the hallway as he leaves.

A litany of ‘oh gods, oh please, nonono _ no _ ’ starts to run through his head, and his eyes squeeze shut. There’s a quiet swish behind him followed by a whistle, and a line of fire licks across his back. Another whistle, another line of fire, and he jerks in the cuffs, trying to get out of the way of the blows that start to fall in a rhythm. He’s been pulled too high to get the purchase he needs on the floor to move, and even if he could, there’s nowhere to go. There’s no break in the swish-whistle-snap of the whip, and he quickly loses track of how many strikes he's taken. In fact he’s quickly losing track of a  _ lot  _ of things, the pain overwhelming everything else. He feels it when the lash breaks skin, blood trickling down his back and stinging where it hits the welts below. The words that were in his head are tumbling out of his mouth now- in Common and Zemnian both- begging them to stop, begging for just a moment’s respite, but again, his appeals for mercy go unheeded.

It feels like it goes on for hours, but he knows it doesn’t; he’s far too precisely attuned to the passage of time to really believe otherwise. When it stops he’s shaking uncontrollably, hanging limp from the restraints. His hands have gone numb, his shoulders aching, and over all of it the wash of fiery torment that his back’s become. The worst part, he thinks hazily, is knowing that it’s only going to get worse. Whippings are insidious that way, hurting up front, and hurting more later, and he’s already in so much pain, he can’t let himself think about later yet. His mind is fogged over, and he knows that’s shock, but he still hears it when one of the guards mentions salt water. From somewhere he finds the energy to start struggling again, his throat raw from screaming, but unable to keep himself from begging between gasped sobs. “ _ Nein _ , no,  _ bitte _ ,  _ please  _ no, don’t,  **_don’t_ ** _ - _ !” There’s the sound of footsteps behind him, and when the water hits his back his vision goes white, brain shorting out completely at the spike of molten agony. He can hear Molly yelling again, but things go dark and distant, and he passes out before he can hear anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Zemnian' translations:  
>  _Ja_ \- Yes  
>  _Es tut mir Leid_ \- I’m sorry  
>  _das verspreche ich_ \- I promise  
>  _Oh, Scheiße_ \- oh shit  
>  _Nein_ \- no  
>  _Bitte_ \- please
> 
>  
> 
> Oh gosh you guys, I'm just gleeful over the response this has gotten so far. Immense thanks to everyone who's commented and kudos'd so far! It gives me life :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want you all thinking you're going to get a new chapter every day, because the next one isn't remotely as finished as the previous few were when I started posting, but I have to say all the kudos and comments are _very_ encouraging to my writing process. There are few things as sweet as the flailings of my readers :)

Molly is going to be hearing Caleb’s screams in his nightmares for a long time.

Once Caleb passes out, the guards lower him down and release his hands, dropping him into a heap on the floor, locking the cells behind them as they go. The torches are left in the wall sconces, and he has a feeling it’s largely for his benefit, to make sure he can see what they’ve done to Caleb. Wicker wanted to teach a lesson, and by the gods he has. Molly didn’t think he could hate anyone this much, but _oh_ , with every strike of the whip, every raw scream they drew from Caleb, Molly had felt his anger grow, hot and ravenous. They’d brought the bucket of salt water, and Caleb’s panicked pleas had broken his heart; he’s going to remember the sound Caleb made as the water hit with crystal clarity the rest of his life.

Wicker wanted them to learn a lesson.

Molly now knows for a fact that Wicker is going to die at his hands if it’s one of the last things he ever does.

In the meantime, there’s nothing Molly can do but seethe. He leans against the bars that separate the cells, and watches Caleb. He’s just out of Molly’s reach, but still close enough for Molly to see what a ruin they’ve made of his back. There’s blood everywhere, and beneath the wash of red Molly can see welts and the places where the skin has split. He desperately wishes he could get into the other cell, if only to get Caleb into a more comfortable position. They’d left him mostly on his stomach, which is a small mercy, but he’s sprawled awkwardly on the floor, and his muscles are going to have stiffened up by the time he wakes. The floor is cold and Caleb is shirtless and injured; he’s shivering, even unconscious, and Molly’s getting seriously concerned about shock.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when he notices Caleb’s breathing change. It’s speeding up, hitching, and while he might not be awake yet, he’s going to be soon, and Molly’s stomach twists in apprehension. Caleb’s return to the waking world is heralded by a strangled scream as Caleb’s whole body goes rigid.

“Caleb, _cariad_ , I need you to breathe, can you do that for me?” Molly presses up against the bars and stretches his arm through, but Caleb is still too far; the foot and a half of space between them may as well be a mile. “Caleb, _please-_ ”

Caleb takes a shuddering breath and lets it out on a whimper, and the hand of his that Molly can see flexes, fingers twitching against the stone of the floor. Slowly, _so_ slowly, Caleb turns his head so he’s facing Molly. It can’t be comfortable, with the rest of his body angled the other way, but Molly would be surprised if Caleb could feel it over everything else. His eyes are glazed, oddly blank, and Molly isn’t sure how present Caleb is. If Molly is good at anything, though, it’s bullshitting, so he pulls on a smile even though it feels wrong, and does his best just in case Caleb is aware enough to notice, keeping his voice light and upbeat as he can without choking on it. “Hey, there you are.” Molly doesn’t know what to do, he can’t even _reach_ him, for fuck’s sake, can’t even hold his hand-

Molly looks at the distance that separates them. His arm doesn’t reach, but-

Molly turns and feeds his tail through the bars, and that’s better. His tail is long enough to span the distance and he lets the tip come to rest next to Caleb’s fingers, gently prodding its way underneath; Caleb's fingers twitch again and close loosely around it.

“Caleb, sweetheart, can you hear me?”

Caleb makes a noise, though it doesn’t really translate into a word. Molly tries to take solace in the fact that at least Caleb's responsive.

For awhile they just stay where they are, Molly pressed against the bars, keeping his tail coiled loosely around Caleb’s wrist, Caleb laying there almost utterly still except for the occasional hitched breath or full body shudder.

“Mollymauk?”

Caleb’s voice is ragged, barely audible. Molly squeezes the coils of his tail around Caleb’s wrist. “Yeah, I’m here. How are you doing?”

Caleb’s eyes slit open, and though bright with pain, they’re clear as they meet Molly’s gaze.

“I have felt better.” Caleb’s lips quirk up in the semblance of a smile before pressing into a pale line as he tries to move. Molly hisses in sympathy, unwinding his tail and pulling it back through the bars. Caleb’s movements are slow, punctuated by quiet noises from between clenched teeth, breathless words in Zemnian that Molly knows are curses, and by the time he manages to belly crawl next to the bars, he’s sweating and breathing heavily, tears flowing freely down his face. He collapses flat to the ground up against the bars and his eyes slide shut.

Molly lays down on the floor so he’s face-to-face with Caleb, and puts a hand through the bars, finally able to reach, taking Caleb’s hand in his. Caleb’s hand is shaking, but his responding grip is strong when Molly squeezes it.

“Caleb, I’m _so_ sorry.” And he is, more than he can express. When he’d agreed to let Caleb take the risk, he’d never imagined it would be this bad. Wicker had seemed more eccentric than dangerous; Molly has built his life over the past couple years on the ability to read people, and in an instance where it really mattered, he’d failed spectacularly.

Caleb cracks his eyes open again. “It is not your fault, Mollymauk.” Molly goes to argue, but Caleb cuts him off with a minute shake of his head. “Unless you were the one who gave the order, or the one wielding the whip, it was not your fault. I knowingly took a risk, and it turned out poorly. That is not your fault either.”

Molly wants to disagree just on principle. He doesn’t argue, though; there may be a time for this later, for Molly to drown in guilt, but that time isn’t now.

“I’m still sorry.”

Caleb smiles and his eyes drift shut, his breathing evening out toward sleep.

Caleb’s sleep is fitful, and Molly knows some of the pain must be getting through even while he rests; there’s a pinched look to his face that Molly wishes he could fix. Time passes- Molly doesn’t know how long, he isn’t Caleb, but it doesn’t feel like anywhere near long enough before he hears the door in the hallway open and footsteps approaching. He doesn’t move from his spot on the floor, just waits as the footsteps come to a stop outside the cells.

“I hated to do it, but you know some lessons have to be learned the hard way.”

Molly carefully disentangles his hand from Caleb’s and pushes himself up to sitting so he can turn and glare at Wicker. He lets every bit of hatred he feels show on his face. “You didn’t _have_ to do this. You didn’t have to hurt him this badly.” Molly stands and stalks to the bars at the front of the cell, his tail lashing angrily behind him. He feels a thrill of satisfaction when Wicker takes a small step back at his approach. He switches to Infernal, snarling, “ _What do you want, you quivering sack of useless flesh_?” He doesn’t put any power behind it, knows that would be a mistake, but the guards all flinch at the sound of the harsh words, only Wicker managing to stand firm.

Wicker quirks an eye, looking amused now, and that only makes Molly angrier. The man turns to one of the guards. “Take him to the lab and get him ready. I’ll be right there.” The guards split, one keeping a crossbow trained on Molly again as another opens the cell door and approaches him. Molly’s eyes, however, are fixed on the other guards, the ones opening the cell door next to his. When he realizes Wicker is heading toward Caleb, he starts struggling. “ _No_! What are you- haven’t you done enough?” He tries to pull away from the guard holding him, to get through the door to the other cell, and is unceremoniously slammed into the bars horn-first, his head ringing from the impact. More hands grab him and start dragging him towards the door at the end of the hall. He hears a quiet noise from Caleb, then a whine of distress, and fury clouds Molly’s mind, completely erasing coherent thought. By the time he’s being wrestled onto the table and strapped down in Wicker’s workroom, he’s been shocked a few times, though he can’t recall what it was he was trying to do. He’s pleased to see some of the guards look worse for wear, and he takes it with grace when one of them punches him in the mouth after he’s been restrained, grinning at them through bloodied teeth as the guard shakes his hand out.

A few minutes later, Wicker comes into the room. “Well don’t you look a sight.”

Molly growls, too angry to manage the words he wants to hurl like daggers.

“Now don’t you worry. He’s being moved back to your cell as we speak, and he’ll be waiting for you when you get back. But let this be a lesson, hm? Next time I won’t be so generous.” Before Molly can respond, Wicker’s fingertips are on his temples, and gods, it’s just as awful as the first two times. Experiencing it, even knowing what’s coming, is still terrible. By the time Wicker is finished, Molly is wrung out, and can feel on his wrists where the straps have chafed as he struggled. He’s furious that Wicker can affect him so strongly.

He doesn’t fight when they loosen the straps and pull him up; he wants to get back to Caleb as soon as possible. It’s harder to stay upright this time, but he’s nothing if not stubborn, and he lets his stubbornness help carry him back to the cells. It’s an immense relief when they open the cell door and push him through, leaving a torch behind when they go. He moves to Caleb, who’s been left in the middle of the cell, and drops to his knees, less graceful than he’d normally be. “Caleb, hey, you ok?” Molly runs his fingers through Caleb’s hair but pulls back when Caleb startles then flinches in pain at the sudden movement. Other than transferring Caleb into the cell, it doesn’t look like they’ve done anything else. They dropped his shirt on the floor near his head, but they haven’t tried to clean him up or give him any medical attention at all. Molly swallows down the urge to be sick, shoves it aside for later. Caleb needs him.

“Hey, sorry, sorry.” Molly takes Caleb’s hand and squeezes. “Are you alright? What did they do?”

Caleb hesitates, then sighs, wrinkling his nose. “Wicker did his thing, which was unpleasant. Then they moved me in here, which was more unpleasant. Other than that, they have left me alone, so it could be worse.”

Molly snorts in disbelief. “Not by much.”

Caleb’s eyes go distant, and his voice is soft enough Molly isn’t sure Caleb meant him to hear it. “ _Nein_ , there are many ways it could be worse.”

Molly doesn’t know what to say to that, so chooses to ignore it. “Is there anything I can do for you? I know we don’t really have supplies, but-”

“Just...what you are doing is good.” Caleb squeezes his hand back. “This is good.”

Molly holds his hand, and pets his hair. Every so often Caleb shivers, and Molly is again reminded that there are no amenities in the cells at all, not even loose straw to put between them and the floor. ‘Relatively comfortable’ his fantastic lavender ass.

“It wouldn’t be a good idea for you to wear it right now, obviously, but do you want me to help you move to lay on top of your shirt at least? Might help a little.”

“I think it best to wait. They should be coming soon to take us to the washroom, but I cannot move under my own power. I would appreciate your assistance if they allow it to get there and back.” Caleb lets out a tired laugh. “Though with how I feel, I’m not sure how well I’ll do even _with_ your help, Mollymauk.”

“Well, we’ll just do our best. I’ll convince them to let me help with my natural charisma and charm. Also because I doubt they’ll want to do it themselves.”

Caleb nods, and glances up at Molly’s face, his expression clouding over. “You are bleeding.”

Molly reaches up with his free hand and finds the sore spot on his lip where the guard’s fist had split it. Molly shrugs. “It’s fine. Just had a small disagreement with some of guards.”

Caleb frowns up at him. “You need to be careful, Mollymauk. Now they’ve deemed violence to be acceptable, things will only escalate. I do not want to see you hurt.”

Molly shakes his head. “Caleb, violence was always acceptable to them; they only wanted a reason. But I’ll try to be careful.”

Caleb drops his head down to rest on the floor again and nods. “That is all I ask, that you try.”

Molly spends the next while petting Caleb’s hair, trying to be a comforting presence. When the guards return, it doesn’t take much on Molly’s part to get them to agree to letting him help Caleb to and from the washroom. Caleb is sheet-white when they reach the washroom, and by the time they return to the cell, it’s all Molly can do to get him laying down again without him just collapsing to the ground. When the guards bring food, Caleb closes his eyes and shakes his head, turning away from it. “I do not think it would be a good idea right now. Perhaps later.”

“Caleb-”

“Please, Mollymauk, I can’t. Just- I will try later. I promise.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

The next couple days go in much the same fashion. They’re woken for breakfast and left alone. Then Wicker comes, and Molly’s escorted to the workroom while Wicker works on Caleb in the cell. A trip to the washroom after, dinner, then lights out. And through the whole thing, Molly watches as Caleb gets weaker, paler. The afternoon of the first day, Molly is mostly carrying Caleb to the washroom. He’s ripped up part of Caleb’s shirt and used it with some of the water they’re given to get most of the blood off Caleb’s back, but the wounds are starting to look angry, red and puffy at the edges, and Molly tries not to think of what could happen, how easily Caleb could end up with blood poisoning. Caleb is only eating a few bites of each meal, and when Molly presses, he tries to eat more, but throws it up. By the end of the second day, Molly feels the heat starting to pour off of Caleb.

He doesn’t know what to do. Caleb needs help, needs a healer, but Molly isn’t that, even when he _has_ his magic. He rips up more of Caleb’s shirt, tries making bandages to cover the worst of the lacerations, but he doesn’t know if that’s helping or hurting. He barely sleeps that night, half convinced Caleb will take a turn for the worse and he’ll miss it.

Caleb starts calling him Eodwulf, and Molly doesn’t have the heart to tell him he’s wrong. Next to him, Caleb whines as Molly wipes his throat and wrists down with a piece of shirt he’s dipped in water. Caleb’s arm twitches like he wants to move it, to swat Molly away, but he can’t lift it. “Eod, _bitte_ , it’s cold.”

“I know, I’m sorry, but I have to try to get your fever down.”

“Just, please, if Astrid is out there, don’t let her see me like this. I don’t-” Caleb cuts off with another whimper of discomfort as Molly swipes over his forehead with the cloth. “She must already think so poorly of me, I want to be better, I _must_ be better, I cannot keep disappointing-” Caleb trails off into mumbled Zemnian that Molly can’t follow. Caleb’s quiet for another few minutes, his fussing winding down as his meager energy reserve runs out.

“Thank you, Eod.”

Molly sets the rag aside and runs his fingers through Caleb’s hair, pulling some of the sweat-damp strands off his face. “What for, dear?”

“For helping me, for- for not leaving me alone. I know Trent doesn’t like it when we help each other. I don’t want you to be in trouble. I don’t want him to hurt you, too.” The matter-of-factness with which Caleb speaks chills Molly. He knows to a certain extent what Caleb suffered under Ikithon’s tutelage, but Caleb has never gone into explicit detail. Molly has seen the scars left behind, though, knows how some of them must have been made; knows enough that if he ever lays eyes on Ikithon again, Molly is going to have _words_ with him.

Possibly blades as well. He’s open-minded.

“This isn’t something you have to thank me for, Caleb. I will _always_ help you if I’m able. I will never willingly leave you alone.”

Caleb’s eyes slide shut, and he hums in response. “He’s going to make you, eventually. But it’s still nice of you to say.”

Caleb passes out again, and Molly sighs, getting up to stretch and walk in a circuit around the cell. He knows it’s almost time for Wicker to come back, and he has to do _something_. Caleb won’t survive much more of this, not without help, and certainly not while being drained daily. He needs a break, and Molly needs to find a way to be sure he gets one.

When he hears the door in the hall open he moves to the bars, trying to look as non-threatening as he can. He wants to rip Wicker limb from limb, but for Caleb’s sake, he can play nice.

When Wicker comes down the hall, Molly meets him at the cell door. “Can we talk, you and I?”

The guards that have followed Wicker move to intercept, but Wicker holds up a hand to stop them. “No, I’d like to hear this. What do you want to talk about?”

“If you keep at him like this, you’re going to kill him. He’s already doing poorly, and you’re taking strength he needs to live.”

Wicker tilts his head, considering Molly. “And what would you suggest I do about it?”

Molly forges ahead, hoping it will be enough. “You provide some kind of healing, lay off draining him for a few days, and in exchange you can take however much you want from me. You already know I don’t have a limit the way he does for power. You could take twice as much from me without having to drain him. Hell, you could probably take _more_ than that.”

Wicker thoughtfully taps his fingers on his arm. “I could just do that anyway, you realize. Why shouldn’t I just take what I want from both of you?”

“Because if you agree to the deal, I won’t fight you.” Molly leans forward, reaching up to hold the bars so he can press in. “If you agree to help him, to keep the infection from getting worse, to let him rest, I won’t fight you at all. I will willingly go with you as many times as you want, let you drain as much as you want, and won’t try to stop you. If you _don’t_ agree-” Molly leans in closer, letting his voice take on more of a growl. “I _will_ fight you. I will fight you every step of the way, every minute, at every opportunity. I will make your life as difficult as I possibly can, for as long as I possibly can. This is all beside the point that if he dies, you’re losing a resource for no good reason when if you invest a little care now you can keep us both.”

Molly stops, and waits. It’s up to Wicker now, and there’s nothing else he can do. He’s said his bit, has to hope that this time he’s read things right.

A moment goes by, Wicker obviously thinking, and Molly lets out a small sigh of relief when Wicker nods, and says, “Alright then. What sort of aid would you ask for? I’m not going to have him healed up outright, he wouldn’t learn his lesson that way. But I agree that it would be a waste of a perfectly good resource to let him die.”

Molly bites his tongue to keep from screaming at the man in front of him. He’s gotten what he wants. Best not to jeopardize it.

“Disinfectant and clean cloths. More water, and maybe a pallet for him to rest on so he’s not on the cold floor. Leave him alone for a few days so he can get his strength back. And leave the torches here.” Molly pauses, then chokes out, “Please.”

“Done. By the time you’re back, all of that will have been brought here for you. But for now-” Wicker’s smile goes wide. “You and I have work to do.”

When they drag Molly back to the cell, he’s barely standing, and the world feels like it’s slowly spinning around him. Wicker had gleefully taken him at his word and when his fingertips had lit on Molly’s head, only the initial shock at the intensity of the sensation had kept him from screaming. It felt like he was being turned inside out, and he shudders in the guards’ grasp at the realization of what exactly he’s signed himself up for. When they get back to the cells though, and he sees Caleb laid out on a proper pallet instead of on the floor, and a bunch of supplies just inside the cell, he decides it was worth it, and will continue to _be_ worth it. He can do this. He _will_ do this. He’ll find a way to make it work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Nein_ \- no  
>  _Bitte_ \- please  
>  _Ja_ \- yes  
>  _cariad_ \- sweetheart


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy oh boy!
> 
> Only the epilogue left after this, which should answer some outlying questions. I want to thank everyone who's left a kudos or a comment for me; waking up to slews of comments of you guys yelling at me is some of the best payment for writing fic :) So thank you for the encouragement!

For a long time, Caleb’s awareness is taken up entirely by pain. His back throbs, his whole body _aches_ , and it feels like he’s burning from the inside out. There have been times in his life where he’s wished it would happen, that he could self-immolate like a phoenix, but he knows he would never come back as something so bright and beautiful. It feels like he’s full of banked embers; he’s thirsty all the time, but when he drinks not all of it stays down. He’s distressingly hazy, unsure about what’s going on around him. He thinks Eodwulf is nearby, helping, but it’s very tenuous, and not quite right, so he isn’t sure if he’s imagining it or not. He drifts, tries to sleep, because it hurts less when he’s asleep. Someone comes and puts their hands on his head, and each time he thinks it’s maybe a healer, but laying on hands isn’t supposed to feel like this, isn’t supposed to feel like it’s sapping his will, his ability, his strength. The person leaves, and if he weren’t already sprawled out on the floor he’d have collapsed down to it in exhaustion. Sometimes it feels like he barely has the strength to breathe, that he must concentrate on it or it will stop. That thought terrifies him enough that he can focus, if only for short periods of time.

There are hands on him. They’re moving him, and he tries to struggle, tries to tell them, ‘stop, please stop, this hurts’, but the words won't come out right. They only move him a little, though, onto something soft, warmer than the stone he’s been lying on. For a while things are quiet again and he dozes. He hears a door open, and soft footsteps enter as the door is closed and locked. He doesn’t move, eyelids too heavy to open.

There are fingers in his hair suddenly, and he wants to flinch back, but can't find the energy to move, so he whimpers; it's all he can manage.

The fingers withdraw, and brush cool against his cheek. There’s a sharp intake of breath, then a sigh.

“Caleb, dear, can you hear me?”

The idea of talking sounds exhausting. Instead, he hums low in his throat.

“Okay, that’s- yeah. Caleb, I have to try to clean your back, okay? We’ve got some supplies now, and I need to use them. I know you’re already feeling pretty rough, but it’s got to be done, and it’s going to hurt, probably a lot. I promise you I’ll try to be as fast as I can, and if you need a break-” Through the haze, Caleb feels something fit itself into his hand. “Just squeeze my tail and I’ll give you a minute, okay?”

He twitches his fingers around the thing in his hand, and there’s a quiet huff of laughter from above.

“Just like that, yes. I’m going to start. Make as much noise as you need to. This is going to sting.”

Caleb is still processing the words when he feels a cool hand lightly press his shoulder down a split second before something cold and wet touches his back. The flare of pain is immediate and he jolts, fingers scrabbling at the soft material under him, at the tail in his hand; he doesn’t clench down, knows somewhere in the back of his head that would be bad, that tails are sensitive. It would hurt who it belonged to, like it would hurt Frumpkin, and he doesn’t want to do that, doesn’t want to hurt anyone. The hand on his shoulder tightens, holds firm, keeping him in place easily as the coldwet _burn_ moves across his back, leaving washes of agony behind everywhere it touches.

“ _Bitte, bitte hör auf-”_ Caleb’s breath catches in his throat and he chokes as the wet thing hits _something_ on his back and it feels like he’s being stuck with a hot poker. His hands tense reflexively, and suddenly the wet thing is pulled back.

“Shhh, sweetheart, I’m sorry, I know it hurts, but I have to clean these out so you can heal. You’re being very brave, I know this is hard. Just hang on a bit longer. Only a few more really bad spots to go. Would it help to know how many so you can count down?”

Caleb shudders through another breath, forcing his hands to relax, and nods; knowing is almost always better than not knowing.

“Okay. There are-” There’s a brief pause, then the voice comes back. “There are four more really bad spots. All of it is going to hurt, but those four are going to be really bad. I’ll warn you before I hit one, and we can count down, so you know how long until you’re done, alright?”

“ _Ja, danke dir_.”

“Okay, then, here we go.” The cold wetness is back, and Caleb tries not to tense up at the feel of it. It burns fiercely, and he’s doing his best to breathe through it as he’s been taught, but small sounds of pain keep slipping out. He bites at his lip and focuses on stifling the sounds.

“Ok, I’m about to hit the next bad spot. Brace yourself, _mo chroí_.”

Caleb almost bites through his lip attempting not to scream as the disinfectant hits, and he’s so tense he’s not sure he’s even breathing.

“I’m sorry, I’m _so_ sorry, but you’re doing so well.” There’s a hand in his hair, stroking softly, and despite everything, it feels nice. “Caleb, hey, can you look at me a moment?” There’s a soft touch on his face, grazing his cheekbone, and he slits his eyes open. There’s a purple tiefling looking down at him, and his brain is sluggish enough that it takes him a moment to place him. “Molly?”

Molly grins, nodding. “That’s right. That’s- that’s great.” The thumb that was running over his cheek moves down to rub lightly over his lower lip where he’d been biting it. Molly’s grin is suddenly less bright. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to be quiet. I know this hurts, and holding it in is- you don’t have to hold it in; you can make as much noise as you need to. Scream, curse, yell, call me names, whatever helps, ok?”

Caleb shakes his head. No, that isn’t right. He’s supposed to be quiet, Trent doesn’t like it when they make noise. He’s been very clear about that.

“Caleb.” Molly’s voice sounds sad, and when Caleb looks up at him again, he looks that way, too. “Darling, Trent isn’t here. He can’t hurt you. If you need to make noise, I’d rather you do that then bite through your tongue trying to stay quiet, ok? Can you do that for me?”

Caleb wants to make Molly happy, wants to make the sad expression go away, so he nods.

“Great. Now that was one bad spot down, three more to go, alright?”

Caleb nods again, and tries to brace himself better this time. Molly hits the three bad spots in quick succession, and between Molly’s encouragement and just the fact that he’s too tired not to, Caleb gives in and screams, muttering curses in Zemnian in between when Molly cleans up the not-so-bad spots.

“Ok, I’m done, that’s it, you were marvelous.” There’s a hand in his hair, and a quick pressure that Caleb thinks is Molly kissing the top of his head before there’s the sound of movement, Molly walking around. Caleb’s eyes have slid shut again and he’s shaking now and can’t stop. His whole back burns, awake and _angry_ , and he’s not convinced this is better than before.

There’s rustling noises, the smell of something wet, sharp and herbal, and the footsteps come closer again.

“I have poultices I’m going to put on for you. It may sting at first, but they should help some of the swelling and pain, and draw the infection out. Is that alright?”

Caleb nods, not trusting his voice. He feels terrible, and thinks if he opens his mouth right now he’s going to cry, and that will make him feel worse. There’s another pause, and then cool wet things are being laid on his back. It does sting, a little, but it’s not as bad as the disinfectant had been. He’s trying to stop shaking, trying to control his breathing, and then there’s a hand in his hair again, petting, and he leans into it. It feels unpleasantly cool on his head, but the pressure is soothing.

“Shhh, _éan beag_ , I’m so proud of you. Just rest.”

It doesn’t take much more encouragement for Caleb to fall asleep.

He wakes, and has no idea how much time has passed, but his head feels clearer than it has in a while. He still feels awful- his head and body ache, and he can tell he’s feverish, but what had been a raging inferno in his back has subsided to banked embers, with the smallest itch that tells him that proper healing has started. It’s going to be near intolerable in a few days, but it’s definitely better than it was.

He opens his eyes and looks around, glad to see the torches were left, but unhappy to see that Mollymauk isn’t there. He closes his eyes for what he thinks is a moment, but ends up dozing off again. He’s woken again by the sound of the cell door opening, and when he cracks his eyes open Mollymauk is stumbling through the door towards him. For a split second, Caleb sees Molly before Molly realizes he’s awake.

The tiefling looks awful, normally-vibrant lavender skin washed out almost to gray, with dark circles under his eyes. His face is drawn, pinched, but the moment he sees Caleb’s eyes are open he transforms, mouth turning up in a grin, tail perking up to swish behind him.

“You’re awake!” Molly kneels down next to Caleb and presses his hand to Caleb’s forehead. “You’re still warm, but nowhere near as bad as before. How’s your back feeling?”

“I am...better, I think, though still very tired. Are _you_ okay? You do not look well, Mollymauk.”

“I’m fine.” Molly’s smile widens, but doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Just been a little stressed the last few days is all. You understand.”

Caleb personally thinks Molly is full of _Pferdescheiße_ , but doesn’t have the energy to call him on it.

“Why don’t you rest a little more? They’ll be bringing food soon and you should eat something. I’ll wake you when it’s time.”

“Ja, okay.” Caleb is asleep again almost before his eyes are closed all the way.

 

“Caleb, wake up.”

Caleb grumbles something impolite in Zemnian, then opens his eyes. Molly is next to him, fingertips light on Caleb’s shoulder. “They just brought dinner. Do you think you could try to eat something?”

“ _Ja_ , I will try.”

Molly smiles back at him, smaller than before, but much more genuine. “Great. Hold on, I’ll help you.”

Molly gets Caleb sitting up, and it’s the first time he’s been properly upright in a few days. He has to lean against Molly’s side, and it tires him out quickly, but he’s up long enough to eat some of the soup that’s been brought for him, and for Molly to help him to the washroom instead of using the bucket that’s been in the cell.

Molly is just getting him back down onto the pallet when the guards return.

“Come on, then, let’s go.”

Molly tenses minutely at the guard’s call, then stands up in a fluid movement, false smile back in place. “Hold on, I’m coming.” He leans down and gives Caleb a kiss on the head. “I’ll be back soon. Why don’t you get more sleep? You look ready to pass out.”

Caleb is out before Molly leaves the cell.

He’s in and out of consciousness over the next few days, but as the days go on he’s awake for longer and longer stretches of time, and he can tell he’s improving. He feels stronger, and the pain lessens to more manageable levels. He’s attributing his sorry state at the beginning to the fact that it takes him a few days to realize two things.

One, Wicker is leaving him alone entirely. On its own, this makes some sense, since he’s been weak, and Wicker might be protecting a valuable asset. Caleb’s seen this sort of behavior before, so it’s not out of the question.

Two, they’re taking Molly much more frequently. He initially thinks his time sense is at fault, since he’s been in and out so much, that his awareness of how much time has passed is skewed. Then he starts marking time more steadily, and they’re taking Molly two, sometimes three times a day, each time bringing him back looking worse and worse.

The first day where Caleb’s feeling more or less himself, he waits until they bring Molly back. It’s his second time out of the cell that day, and the guards are practically carrying him, Molly’s tail dragging on the ground behind him. When they drop him into the cell, Caleb hears how ragged his breathing is, sees how unsteady he looks, even just on his hands and knees. Molly’s color has gone from gray to ashen, and looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over. Caleb, despite everything else he may think about himself, knows he’s smart, if not especially wise, so he feels reasonably confident in the conclusion he’s come to.

“Mollymauk-”

“Give me a minute, _cariad_ , just need to catch my breath.”

Caleb counts to himself, gives Molly one, two, three minutes, and just as he’s about to say something, Molly crawls over to him; Caleb can’t tell if Molly is doing it out of expediency or because he isn’t able to stand. Molly drops to the ground next to him, laying down so he’s facing Caleb, and offers a weak smile.

“You’re looking better. Did they bring you anything to eat while I was gone?”

“Mollymauk-”

“How’s your back feeling? Your color’s a lot better.” Molly reaches up and brushes his fingers along Caleb’s cheek, and even with the brief contact Caleb can feel Molly’s hand shaking.

“ _Mollymauk-_ ”

“Your fever seems to be mostly gone, that’s great.”

“ **_Molly_ **.”

Molly deflates, dropping his arm back down to the ground, the smile sliding off his face. His voice is quiet, bone-weary and resigned when he answers.

“Yes, Caleb?”

Caleb tries to keep his voice even. “ _Schatz_ , what did you do?”

“What I had to.”

Caleb’s heart constricts in his chest, and he reaches for Molly’s hand, tangling their fingers together and giving it a squeeze. “Molly.” It’s not precisely a question, but Molly reads it as such anyway, letting out a shaking breath.

“You were sick, Caleb. You were _so_ sick, and hurt, and you were getting worse, and I didn’t know what else to do. So I did what I could, what I had to.”

Caleb swallows, afraid to know, but pushes forward, asks again, gently. “What did you do?”

“I told him if he left you alone and brought supplies to help you, I’d let him take from me as much as he wanted and I wouldn’t fight him.”

“Molly, _nein_ , no, you shouldn’t have-”

“What else was I _supposed_ to do, Caleb, let you get worse? Let you slip away and die while I could have done something and _didn’t_?” Molly's eyes close but he pulls Caleb's hand up to his lips and presses a kiss to the knuckles. “What kind of person would I be if let that happen?” Molly squeezes their hands again, lets them come to rest on the ground between them. “It wasn't a choice, Caleb. I couldn't have done anything else, and I refuse to feel bad about it.”

Caleb runs his thumb over the top of Molly's hand. He wants to argue, to yell at Molly that he isn't worth it, that _none_ of this is worth it, not if it makes Molly look like this, like he's withering away before Caleb’s eyes with each passing day. But he also sees the stubbornness writ on Molly’s face, the determined set of his jaw, and instead says, “Okay.”

Molly slides an eye open in disbelief. “That's it?”

“What do you want me to say, Mollymauk? I'm glad to be feeling better, I am glad it’s not me, but don't ask me to be alright with what he is doing to you.”

Molly sighs, and Caleb hates how worn he sounds. “It’s a shitty situation all around. He’s had me twice today already, I think I should be ok until tomorrow. Can we just-” Molly’s face does something complicated. “Can you-” He stops again, looking conflicted, and that’s not ok. Caleb tugs Molly’s hand closer to himself and kisses Molly’s fingers.

“Anything in my power to give you, _schatz_ , just tell me.”

Molly shudders, and in a very small voice asks, “Can you just hold me for a while?”

In the entire time he and Molly have been doing the nebulous thing they do together, Molly’s never sounded anything less than confident in asking for what he wants. To hear him sounding so small and uncertain- Caleb doesn’t know what to do with that other than to release Molly’s hand and lift his arm as much as he’s able, beckoning Molly closer. “Of course, come here.”

Molly rolls to his back and inches closer to Caleb so it’s easy for him to use Molly as a body pillow, draping an arm across the tiefling’s middle and resting his head on Molly’s shoulder.

Normally Molly would have an arm around Caleb’s back, but they both know that’s not an option, so instead Molly leaves his arm up near Caleb’s head, letting his hand rest in Caleb’s hair. Caleb squeezes the arm he has around Molly hard as he can, which granted isn’t very hard, but he feels the tension in Molly’s body ease slightly though there’s still a fine tremor running through him.

Molly’s fallen deeply asleep, and Caleb is dozing, only marginally awake when he hears the door in the hallway slam open and footsteps running towards them. He doesn’t move, stays where he is, and hopes that somehow they’ll be left alone. He slits an eye open and sees Wicker slide to a stop next to the door, a guard catching up a second later.

“Just- just get the door open then go help the others. I need to move this place, and I need him to do it. Just...give me that!” Wicker grabs the key from the guard’s hand, and shoves the other man off back down the hallway.

“But sir, what if they fight back-”

“I am more than a match for either or both of them right now, they can barely move. Go help them hold the front until I get us gone. Go!”

The guard takes off with an uncertain look, leaving Wicker muttering to himself and unlocking the cell door. Caleb doesn’t like the sound of almost anything he just heard, other than that it sounds like help may be on the way. This could be their chance.

Wicker gets the door open and closes it behind him, though not taking the time to lock it. He strides closer, purposeful and despite all his instincts yelling at him not to, Caleb lets his eye slide closed again and remains loose and unmoving over Molly. If Wicker thinks he’s asleep, if Wicker thinks he isn’t a threat, Caleb has an idea. It’s a stupid idea, a _terrible_ idea, and if it works Molly will yell at him, but it will also be worth it. If it _doesn’t_ work, well, Caleb doubts he’ll be around to hear about it.

It’s a struggle to keep his face neutral, to not react when he hears Wicker close in and settle near Molly’s head. There’s stillness for a moment, then Molly twitches under him, startling, quickly followed by a barely awake, “What-?”

“ **Hold**.”

Molly goes rigid under Caleb’s arm and head, and he knows exactly what Wicker’s done. Molly can’t move, but Caleb can still hear the quiet whines that are making their way out of his throat, can feel Molly almost vibrating with his attempts to fight the spell holding him in place. It must work because a few seconds later Molly jolts under him, suddenly free, and Molly is scrambling, trying to get away. Caleb opens his eyes to see Molly rolling over and to the side, trying to get up before Wicker mutters something and Molly’s collar activates, dropping him with a strangled shout. Molly’s on the ground writhing as Wicker stalks over to him, and when the collar stops Molly doesn’t get up, shaking where he lies. Wicker kneels down by his head again, immediately putting his hands on Molly, and Molly _screams_. The sound goes right through Caleb like a spear, but through his panic he realizes Wicker, in his effort to get a good hold on Molly, has put his back to him; it’s practically an engraved invitation.

Caleb pushes himself up to his knees, swaying slightly. He hasn’t been upright under his own power in almost a week, and he’s feeling it, but he also knows he’s only getting one chance to do this, so he must make it work. He gets unsteadily to his feet and moves quietly to Wicker, waiting until he’s right behind the other man. He can hear Molly, whimpering now, quietly begging Wicker to stop, can see the occasional movement of Molly’s hands from around Wicker’s sides, weakly trying to bat Wicker’s away from him, but he isn’t strong enough to stop him.

Caleb tries to brace himself. He knows this is going to hurt, knows this has every likelihood of ending very badly, but he also can’t _not_ do it. He has Molly’s words about doing what he must in his head as he brings his hands up to the sides of Wicker’s head and lets his hands char black. He feels the collar activate but ignores it as best he can, grabbing onto Wicker’s head hard as he unleashes gouts of flame from his palms, putting all the fury and frustration and helplessness he’s been feeling into it, and holds on until the collar finally knocks him out.

 

“Caleb? Caleb! Darling, _cariad_ , please, I need you to wake up, _please_ wake up.”

There are hands on his face, gentle, and he has trouble denying that voice what it wants at the best of times, so he’s no match for it right now. He opens his eyes with a groan to find Mollymauk leaning over him, face a mask of worry. Molly breaks into a grin a second later, and it’s wide and bright and real.

“Oh thank the gods, there you are. Sweetheart, are you ok?”

“Back-”

Molly curses, and helps Caleb flip over to his stomach again. There’s a hiss from Molly and whatever he’s seeing, Caleb doesn’t want to know. There’s a much more urgent question he needs the answer to.

“Wicker- is he, did I-?”

There’s a snort of darkly amused laughter. “Oh, I’d say he’s done, yeah. Not to put too fine a point on it, darling, but you were rather definitive in dealing with him.”

Caleb squeezes his eyes closed, tries to breathe through his mouth. Now that he’s more aware, the smell of cooked flesh is hitting him, and he’s not sure if it’s coming from Wicker or from where he can feel the burns against his neck from the collar, but either way it’s near overwhelming; he can feel his mind trying to drift away on him, and now is _not the time_.

“Molly, we need to leave, I can’t- the smell, please-”

Molly thankfully seems to understand, and together they manage to stumble upright.

“Why don’t you just keep your eyes closed for a few minutes, at least until we’re in the hallway. You don’t need to see this.”

Caleb would normally argue, accuse Molly of coddling him, but in this moment he’s content to let Molly lead him from the cell and away from the smell of smoke and cooked meat.

The door at the end of the hallway is open, and they go through, listening carefully and quietly, but there’s no sound. There’s no one nearby, and they don’t encounter anyone else by the time they find a door they think will lead them out.

They look at the door, then at each other.

“As much as I’d like it to be this easy, I can’t help but think it _can’t_ be this easy.”

Caleb is inclined to agree, personally, but the two of them are barely standing, and he’s tired enough he’s having trouble finding the energy to even worry, which is a new and exciting level of exhaustion.

With a shrug Molly reaches out, opens the door, and together they step through into daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Bitte, bitte hör auf_ \- please, please stop  
>  _Ja, danke dir_ \- yes, thank you.  
>  _mo chroí_ \- my heart  
>  _éan beag_ \- little bird  
>  _Pferdescheiße_ \- horse shit  
>  _Schatz_ \- treasure  
>  _cariad_ \- sweetheart  
>  _Nein_ \- no
> 
> Man what a ride! If you feel like coming to yell at me about this, or anything else, come find me on tumblr!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah I finished it! <3

They stumble out the doorway and into bright sunshine, both collapsing to their knees in soft green grass and to the surprised shouting of a number of people. It’s a shock after being inside stone for so long, and Caleb is nearly bowled over by Nott as she crashes into his side out of seemingly nowhere. He’s got his arms around her, holding her close, and he can’t understand even half of what she’s saying, but whether that’s because she’s crying or because he’s still so out of it, he isn’t sure.

They get the story from Jester as she’s patching them up at the inn where they’re spirited off to once the initial chaos of their reappearance has calmed down; Jester tells them they’ve been missing just shy of two weeks.

“Well, you know we thought at first maybe you guys just got distracted, or Caleb found a  _ really  _ neat bookstore, or something like that, but then you didn’t come back and we were really,  _ really  _ worried. And we looked, I mean, like,  _ everywhere  _ for you guys, but obviously we couldn’t  _ find  _ you, and Nott’s messages didn’t work, so we went to the temple here in town to see if one of them could maybe try scrying for you or something, and we found out you weren’t the first people to go missing, so they were  _ super  _ interested in trying to help, and we were able to look for you because Nott had some of your hair- Caleb, don’t give me that look I’m sure she has a  _ very  _ good reason- but when we got to where the spell thought you  _ should  _ be there was nothing  _ there _ , which was  _ really  _ weird, and then some guys came out of a  _ secret door in the air _ and that was  _ really cool _ , but we couldn’t get in, and that wasn’t cool at  _ all _ , but then we caught one of the bad guys, and the guys from the temple were all, ‘HAH you will tell us all you know’- and Nott and I helped, cause we are the best detectives, of course- and then they  _ did  _ tell us all they knew, and we came back, and there was a fight, and then  _ you  _ guys came out of the doorway, which was even  _ better _ , but you both kind of look like shit, you know, which  _ isn’t  _ better, but I will fix it because I am the  _ best  _ cleric, and you will be almost good as new!”

After they’re ushered back to the inn, while Jester is healing them, some of the clerics from the temple come to talk to them. The temple is to the Dawnfather, and Molly and Caleb learn that they’ve been trying to figure out the mysterious disappearances of traveling magic users for months, now. They don’t learn a lot about what Wicker was up to, other than that he’d been doing this for a while, and whatever research of his they found is being sent directly to the academics at the Soltryce Academy to figure out. Caleb fidgets uncomfortably at the mention, and Molly tugs him close, squeezing his hand.

From what the clerics can tell, the place they were being held is a variation on a Magnificent Mansion; Wicker had managed to cast permanency on it somehow, holding it in place and giving himself an almost impossible-to-find lair. The guards that Caleb and Molly had seen were hired mercenaries, and those that weren’t killed in the final confrontation have been taken into custody.

After their first decent meal in days and more healing from Jester, they’re finally alone again in the quiet of their room. Caleb runs his fingers over his retrieved books, thankful that the investigators from the temple brought them back to him.

There’s light touch on his shoulder and he shivers, turning to look at Molly at his side.

“Jester gave me some salve for the burns. She said it might help your back, too.”

The collars they’d been wearing had vanished the moment they were through the doorway and outside the Mansion, though both of them still have bands of angry, tender skin where they’d sat, even after Jester’s attentions. With Jester’s help, Caleb’s back is now a network of pink freshly-healed scarring, and even though it doesn’t hurt exactly the skin feels hypersensitive and tight, and he knows it will be weeks before it’s properly comfortable again.

Molly is better off injury-wise, but he’s barely upright. There hadn’t been much Jester could do for him since his exhaustion wasn’t entirely physical, and they’d both been ordered to bed by their cleric for what she referred to as ‘therapeutic cuddling’.

Molly takes Caleb’s hand and tugs him over to the bed and has him sit, settling next to Caleb close enough their thighs press together. Caleb leans into his side as Molly opens the little wooden container, and the light smell of honey and herbs floats up to him. They both take some of the salve and work it around their necks, and Molly gently nudges against Caleb’s shoulder.

“Want help with your back?”

Caleb nods; he’s so _very_ ready to lay down, and he can’t imagine Molly feels much different. Anything that will speed up the process is welcome.

Molly has Caleb turn to face away, and Caleb can feel the press of Molly’s legs against his lower back and hips as Molly leans close, carefully starting to rub the salve into the skin of Caleb’s back.

By the time Molly’s finished, Caleb feels loose and content, like he might just melt sideways.

“Hey now, don’t fall asleep on me yet.” Molly’s voice is warm and affectionate, and Caleb is nearly overcome with emotion. Relief that they’re both safe, worry that Molly still looks and sounds so tired, the deep ache of  _ something  _ in his chest that he feels every time he thinks of how close to irrevocable disaster they came. He turns around to face Molly again and reaches up to cup Molly’s face in one of his hands. Molly tilts into it, eyes closing with a smile before he turns his head to press a kiss to Caleb’s palm. “How about we lay down,  _ schatz _ ? Jester was very specific about the cuddling.”

Caleb snorts, and can’t help the smile pulling his lips up. “Your accent is still terrible, Mollymauk.”

Molly’s smile widens into a soft grin, and he leans in for a quick kiss before pulling back, closing the salve container and getting up. “I suppose I’ll just have to practice more. I’m sure you’ll be only too happy to correct my accent in the meantime.”

“Mm, yes, but maybe later.”

Caleb gets up as well, and they both strip down to their smallclothes, pulling the layers of blankets down on the bed so they can climb in. Before long, they’re tucked in under the reassuring weight of the quilts, wound around each other and pressed close as they physically can. Caleb had figured Jester was joking when she very sternly told them to snuggle, but maybe she’d been serious. For the first time in weeks, Caleb is well-fed, relatively pain-free, and in a soft, warm bed with Mollymauk; all things considered, he’s feeling pretty great.

He tucks his head under Molly’s chin and squeezes his arms where they’re wrapped around Molly’s middle, and presses a kiss to the scarred surface of Molly’s chest.

“ _ Gute Nacht _ , Mr. Mollymauk.”

“ _ Oiche mhaith _ , Mr. Caleb.”

Caleb feels Molly’s tail wind securely around his ankle, and for the first time in a long time, the both of them slide comfortably into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
>  _Schatz_ \- treasure  
>  _Gute Nacht_ \- good night  
>  _Oíche mhaith_ \- good night
> 
> I want to thank everyone who's been so incredibly encouraging while I was writing/posting this. Your comments and kudos are greatly appreciated :)
> 
> I'd also like to thank [chaya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaya/pseuds/chaya), whose story [Fever Dream](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15143582) inspired this piece. I'd also like to thank [snarkycommenter](http://snarkycommenter.tumblr.com/) from tumblr who helped me sort out a few of the plot things. 
> 
> If you've got more questions about this story, want to flail at me, or want to say hi, come find me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/).

**Author's Note:**

> Zemnian:  
> 'oh Götter'- oh gods
> 
> I've tagged for some things I know are coming, but will update accordingly as other tag become necessary.
> 
> Want to say hi? Ask a question? Flail at me about something? Come say hello to me on tumblr at [Analisegrey](http://analisegrey.tumblr.com/).


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